Play Along(25)

Huh?

“I’m going to need you to expand on that last one for me.”

“Maybe another time.” She sighs. “I want to do this. Selfishly, I want to do this.”

“Well, that’s good because I got you a ring already.”

“Oh. That was quick. I should probably get a ring for you too, huh?”

“It’s only fair.”

“Do you have any preferences?”

“Do men wear diamonds?”

“You want diamonds?”

“I want this to be extravagant as hell. You wanted subtle so we’re going to blow the budget on me.”

She chuckles into the line again, which is weird. She never laughs this freely. She’s never so upfront and honest either.

“Kennedy Kay, are you drunk right now?”

“A little.”

I keep the phone held up to my ear as I lie back on my bed, one hand tucked under my head, the previous anxiousness no longer sitting on my chest.

“I thought you weren’t much of a drinker.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m driving you to drink already?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“What are you drinking?”

The question sounds a whole lot like “what are you wearing,” which is also something I’d love to know.

“Tequila.”

My grin takes over my entire face. “Dangerous. I’ve heard people make drunken mistakes on tequila.”

“I’ve also heard them referred to as happy accidents.”

Eyes on the ceiling, I’m sure she can hear my smile through the line.

“Isaiah?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

Hesitating, I think it over. “Kind of hard to be mad at you when you just agreed to be my wife.”

“It’s okay to be mad at me if you need to. You don’t always have to keep that smile plastered on your face.”

I pause, feeling this conversation hitting far too close to home, but attempt to playfully push off the vulnerability. “You’ve been noticing my smile, Kenny?”

“Mm-hmm. I notice that you smile even when you don’t want to. Like with me. I hurt your feelings today, and instead of leaving me to deal with everything on my own, you saved my job and made sure I was smiling before you left.”

I didn’t realize she noticed that. I didn’t think anyone noticed that.

“But you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she continues. “It won’t change how I feel about you.”

You’re allowed to be mad at me. It won’t change how I feel about you.

I clear my throat. “So, you’ll still hate me?”

“Exactly.” I hear her swallow. “Isaiah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you try anything with me that night in Vegas?”

Jesus.

“You’re drunk, Kenny.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to answer.”

Every ounce of blood in my body shoots south at the sound of Kennedy Kay asking why I didn’t try something with her.

“By try something, you mean other than marrying you?”

“Yeah. Other than marrying me.”

“Did you want me to try something?”

“I don’t know. I’m just wondering why you didn’t.”

“Well,” I exhale. “I was just as wasted as you, so there’s that. Plus, I think my mama would come back from the grave and take me with her if I ever touched a woman while they were drunk. But at the end of the day, even though I’ve spent all this time trying to get your attention, I won’t try anything with you unless I know you want my attention too.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence.

“Did you want my attention that night, Kenny?”

She chuckles into the phone. “Good night, Isaiah.”

Kennedy hangs up the phone just as another flash of lightning illuminates the sky.

It’s only then I realize that I kind of forgot about the storm for a bit.





Chapter 8


Kennedy


Isaiah: Meet me in the women’s bathroom by the clubhouse.

Me: Why are we meeting there of all places?

Isaiah: It’s where we first met. I’m being romantic.

Me: You should really stop using my bathroom.

Isaiah: But it’s so much cleaner than ours.



I shouldn’t be surprised when I walk into the women’s restroom and find Isaiah leaning a hip on the sink counter and popping dinner mints into his mouth. I’ve caught him in here a handful of times over the years, after all.

He’s too busy exploring all the privileges of the women’s bathroom to notice my presence, but maybe for the first time while at work, I notice him.

His baseball cap is turned backward, but his too-perfect hair is still making its appearance around the edges.

He’s tall. Ungodly tall.

Then there’s his clothes. Khaki pants that hug his thick thighs perfectly and an olive-green bomber jacket laid over a crisp white T-shirt, showing off the muscles in his chest. His sneakers are a fresh white, with socks too low to tell if they match today or not.